


Sometime in the Morning

by wesley2015remaster



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Jork - Freeform, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, kind of a prequel to a dolenzmith fic i wrote, micky and mike r just ..... dads, tv universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesley2015remaster/pseuds/wesley2015remaster
Summary: It's Davy's birthday and things just kind of ... fall into place.Act I: Early Morning Blues and GreensAct II: Tear the Top Off My HeadAct III: I Don't Think You Know Me (At All)Act IV: Daydream BelieverAct V: Sometime in the Morning
Relationships: Davy Jones/Peter Tork
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Sometime in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of a prequel (?) to my micky/mike fic 'but it ain't me babe'. there was a little bit of jork in there and i just kinda expanded on the idea  
> i keep changing my mind how i feel about this one, and i don't really like the last act but . whadda ya gonna do. think i just gotta let it go

** I: Early Morning Blues and Greens **

It was Mike’s voice that pulled Davy from his sleep. He wasn’t speaking too loudly, but with his and Peter’s bedroom being situated so close to the kitchen, it didn’t take much to be heard. Usually, Davy was a heavy sleeper, but the curtains had been left open and the sunlight was shining directly onto him. The light that filtered through his eyelids made him feel uncomfortable, and he was too focused on Mike’s unintelligible chattering to go back to sleep. And besides, he had become all too conscious of the boy who was sharing his bed.

He rolled over onto his back, sunlight now glaring directly into him (he squinted his eyes against the rays). He was careful not to disturb Peter, who slept like a rock next to him. Peter’s arm was dead weight on Davy’s chest. Davy almost felt trapped, though he knew that was only his mind trying to make things worse for himself. He sighed heavily, taking in the warm morning air as the sun continued to shine into their little room. It was winter, but the warmth from Peter engulfed him. And it was always warm in California compared to England. He saw Peter’s arm rise and fall with his breathing, and it sent a stabbing ache through him. What was he going to _do?_ He couldn’t just leave, but he definitely did not want to stick around long enough to see what Peter would say when he woke up.

Maybe that was just Davy projecting his own feelings onto Peter. What did he expect Peter to say to him? _“Sorry, babe, just got caught up in the moment, I know we spent the night together and everything, but it was all a big mistake and you should probably switch rooms with Micky”._ Peter wasn’t like that – he wasn’t malicious or dishonest, and he wouldn’t have gone along with it if he were just going to take it all back and play it off as a big joke. Peter was nothing if not sincere.

And it wasn’t a mistake. Davy knew what he had been doing, and that somehow made it all worse. He remembered exactly how it had happened.

It was his and Mike’s birthday. The monkees hadn’t gotten them much – Christmas had just been, and they could hardly afford rent, let alone so many presents at once. But the holidays were a good period for getting work, and they were able to splurge on a cake and a good dinner. They were going to have a party the next day, but that night they just spent with each other. Most of the night they sat at the kitchen table, eating and joking and talking. Peter looked ecstatic and kept grinning at Davy like he was about to burst with excitement. Davy knew that look. It meant he was planning something. Davy studied him. He enjoyed watching Peter, and if he were any less fast-moving, he would have gotten himself caught up thinking about why (he rivalled Micky in the fast-moving department). But that was a part of himself he did not care to find answers for, so he kept on with his life without asking himself too many questions.

As the night crawled on, they situated themselves on the couch. Mike had his acoustic guitar out and was playing a few songs that every now and then Davy or Micky would pick up on and start singing. The relaxed atmosphere in the living room seemed to take Peter’s mind off of whatever it was he was waiting for, and he became less jumpy with anticipation. This was all before they had found themselves in their bedroom. Davy didn’t remember much of what happened _before_ – it all seemed so inconsequential compared to what happened _during_ and _after_. But maybe if he paid more attention to these things, he would save himself a lot of grief. Never being one for future-thinking, he did not stay on the moments when he and Peter’s knees rested against each other. He did not recall all the times they had made eye contact and Davy had quickly looked away. He did, however, note watching Peter in that moment, with a curious feeling brewing. He ignored it

Whenever Mike started a folk tune, Peter was the one who began singing. He knew a lot of those old songs – Davy knew this because he was always humming them when he wandered around their room. Peter was a shy singer, but when it was just him and Davy, he would hum to his hearts content. He would even sing some blues to him if he asked. Given the right song, Peter could sound incredible, and in that moment, Davy was starstruck. Those moments were getting harder and harder to ignore and forget.

Soon, Mike was setting down the guitar, and Micky was staring wistfully at the staircase, and they all silently and unanimously agreed it was time for bed. Davy watched Mike and Micky go to their separate rooms, before entering his own. He was immediately faced with Peter, and his wide, sheepish grin. His hand was outstretched and hanging from his closed fist was a beaded necklace.

“Happy birthday, Davy,” Peter said. “I made you this, but don’t tell Mike, because I didn’t make one for him. I don’t think he would dig it anyway, but I didn’t wanna make him feel left out.”

Davy blushed, silently letting Peter place the beads in his palm. He let the necklace hang there for a while, rolling the smooth beads in his fingertips. That same curious feeling was back, and this time, in the privacy of their room, Davy allowed himself to mull it over. The more attention he gave it, the more it grew. “You made this?” _For me?_

“Well, yeah,” Peter shrugged. “It’s not too hard, I made some for myself, see – “ he tugged at the beads around his own neck “ – I can show you how if you want.”`

Davy didn’t know what did it or when it all happened, but in that instant, everything seemed to just add up. All those moments he forgot culminated in his subconscious. He yanked Peter downwards and crashed into him. He could feel Peter’s sharp intake of breath as before he could even begin to process what had suddenly pulled him downwards, Davy’s lips were on his. He had collided face first from the _before_ into the _during_.

Davy held the kiss for a second, before he seemed to realise where he was (what he was doing, who he was with). His impulsiveness had gotten the better of him, as it usually did, but this time he didn’t see a way out of this situation. Getting accidentally caught up in a criminal’s scheme was one thing. Kissing your bandmate was a whole other beast.

He pulled back into the _after,_ and he was expecting the worst. Yet when Davy pulled away Peter didn’t look mad. Surprised, maybe, but he still had that easy-going nature about him. He didn’t appear to be very shaken up.

Davy still had the urge to apologise profusely, despite Peter not looking like he was about to beat him for what he did. He opened his mouth to stutter out an awkward apology (because what else could he have done?), but Peter had already beat him to the punch.

“I didn’t know it was my birthday too,” Peter said, and he smiled. Davy blinked at him. Peter often left him lost for words, but this was something different entirely.

“Wh-What?” Davy gasped. “Y’don’t … You don’t hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?” Peter asked, cocking his head to the side. “You just kissed me.”

“Well, that’s exactly why you should hate me,” Davy said. His head was hurting. This was confusing him – both his sudden feelings for Peter and Peter’s apparent lack of concern. “I didn’t even ask you, or anything, and we’re both guys, and that’s just not the kind of thing you can spring on another guy.”

“But I wanted you to kiss me,” Peter said plainly. Davy’s chest felt tighter than it had ever been. He sat down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just … it’s just a lot of things at once,” Davy mumbled into his hands. He was used to sudden feelings, and falling in love on a whim, but _this_ he couldn’t understand. The mattress felt hard beneath him.

“I can sleep on the couch if you want,” Peter said. “I’ll bring my alarm clock so I can be awake before Mike and … and then he won’t ask any questions and it’ll just be between us.”

“No, Peter, this is my own fault,” Davy argued. He was amazed at how pragmatic Peter was being. He was taking charge as Davy could only sit on the bed, his brain working at 100 miles an hour, and yet still not being able to catch up on anything the was happening around him.

“But I’m not the one hung up on it,” Peter noted. Peter wasn’t good with the fine details, but he understood bigger pictures, and this seemed like a simple equation to him. He didn’t get why Davy complicated things for himself. “So, if you need time, I can go.”

“No, Peter,” Davy said more assertively. He reached out to Peter’s arm and pulled him down to sit beside him. “I just … Can I try something?”

Peter nodded. Davy took a deep breath. He had to try it again. He had to know. This was the one time he would allow himself to ask these kinds of questions.

He was more hesitant this time. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do (god he wished he would stop _thinking_ ). He had already asked Peter, said the words out loud, and he couldn’t back down now. He felt Peter’s hair underneath his fingertips as he held his friend’s face. He could feel the strands moving with his shaking hands. He couldn’t back down now. And at this point, in the back of his mind, he really didn’t want to, no matter how much that thought scared him.

Davy plunged forward into the unknown and chastely pressed his lips to Peter’s. Peter responded, but the little nugget of doubt within him insisted it was just because he was being kind. But Davy didn’t dwell on that thought, instead choosing to throw caution to the wind. He would think about it later, for now his inhibitions were almost completely gone.

However, the seed of doubt was enough for Davy to force himself to pull away to check on Peter, albeit after several drawn out moments of relishing the moment. Peter didn’t look surprised anymore, he just looked … happy. And that was enough for Davy. His eyes travelled along Peter’s face, down his nose and back to his lips, before kissing them again. Peter’s face was smooth. This was a groove.

One thing had lead to another and there he was, in the light of the morning, with Peter sleeping soundly next to him. He reached out to touch the side of Peter’s torso. He felt warm skin underneath his fingertips. This was real.

Remembering everything made him feel sick. His head spun. His stomach turned. This wasn’t normal.

He didn’t want to hurt Peter, but he couldn’t stay. He was overwhelmed. He was cowardly, he was selfish, and he was callous. He knew this.

He sat up, prying Peter’s arm off of him. It fell to the empty space on the bed. He winced at the floor sending a shock of cool through his bare feet. Just because he was living in California now, didn’t mean the effects of winter weren’t there. Without Peter against him, he realised that the day wasn’t as warm as he thought. He quickly got dressed to escape the cold and with one last apologetic glance that Peter would not be able to see, he went to where Micky and Mike were in the kitchen (making sure to squeeze through the cracked door so neither of them realised Peter was not sleeping in his own bed).

** II: Tear the Top Right Off My Head **

Davy didn’t see Peter much the whole day. They were all doing their own things preparing for Mike and Davy’s birthday party. For a while Micky got distracted and roped Davy into practicing some drumming with him. Before he knew it, people were filtering into the pad, and it was impossible to pick Peter out of the crowd.

Davy didn’t want to let it bother him, but it did. Mostly because he had no idea whether he had hurt Peter or not. Well, scratch that, he was _sure_ he had hurt Peter, but he couldn’t tell the extent of it. Davy wanted to just enjoy the party, but he had gotten caught up in all this.

As the night wore on, and he began to let go of his thoughts of Peter, he had to admit he was managing to forget his troubles better than he would have expected to that afternoon. The music was loud, and the birthday wishes people showered him with distracted him nicely. He danced with girls who were happy to dance with him, and he got them punch when they asked. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a birthday. But still he felt a loneliness when dancing with girls, and thoughts about what had gone left unsaid all day scratched at the back door of his mind. Despite his thoughts constantly ambling back to Peter, his cheeriness allowed him to let the thoughts in. He was confident he could handle it now – all he had to do was speak to Peter about it, what was the worst that could happen? Everything seemed so simple now.

“Do you know where Peter is?” Davy shouted to Micky over the music. Micky pointed to the punch table, where Peter was talking to one of the Jolly Green Giants. “Thanks.”

Davy made his way to Peter. “Can we talk?” He asked, pulling him slightly away from the table. Peter nodded, and Davy took that as the go ahead to drag him upstairs. To Davy’s relief, the hallway was empty, and Davy pulled Peter into the bathroom with him. Compared to downstairs it was unusually quiet. It felt like they were in their own little bubble.

“I’m sorry about, um,” Davy started, suddenly shy, staring at his own shuffling feet on the tiles of the floor. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a good idea. _God they really should vacuum more, huh?_ “Not being around all day.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Peter said. Davy couldn’t tell if Peter was being sincere, or if that comment was meant to bite. Peter could be passive aggressive if he really wanted to, but he didn’t want to often. Davy used to be able to read Peter well, but after all this, his own insecurities were getting in the way. Davy sighed, but he remembered the confidence he had just a minute earlier and decided to perk up. _Fuck it._ He was Davy Jones; he could have any girl he wanted. This sort of thing came naturally to him, or it was supposed to. And if it wasn’t going to come easy, he would fake it until it did.

“I do dig you, Peter,” Davy said. “But … you understand …”

“I dig you too,” Peter said. He didn’t want to say that he didn’t understand. He didn’t have the same hang ups that Davy had. But he felt lucky enough that Davy had turned his affections towards him, even if it was only temporary, so he didn’t try to question it. If Davy wanted to be with him in that moment, that was enough. He understood enough to know that everyone had their own hang ups, and this was Davy’s, though he didn’t quite get why.

On hearing Peter’s admission, he leaned up on his tippy toes and gently kissed him.

“Why’d ya do that?” Peter asked, a slight chuckle accentuating the end of the phrase.

“Just wanted to see if I still could,” Davy smiled mischievously. Peter smirked at him, leaning down to kiss him again.

“Why’d ya do that?” Davy echoed, giggling.

“To see if I could,” Peter replied. Davy grinned wider than he ever had, and they both leaned into each other to connect their lips once again. Their kisses tasted like fruit punch. Eventually things continued and Peter lifted Davy to sit on the edge of the sink, Peter situated in between Davy’s thighs. Neither of them were paying attention to their surroundings and this caused several trinkets to fall off the counter and into the basin. The absurdness of the situation – _Davy Jones_ and _Peter Tork_ having a secret affair in their bathroom at a party – and the crashing of toothbrushes and mouth wash made them laugh hysterically. Davy collapsed into Peter, who could feel him giggling into his neck. A knock on the door brought them quickly back to reality.

“Davy are ya in there?” Mike’s disembodied voice called. Davy hesitated for a second.

“Yeah but, uh – I got someone with me,” he said. Both he and Peter seemed to find that profoundly funny, as they both tried to stifle their childish giggling.

“Oh, uh,” Mike trailed off, sounding bashful.

“It’s alright, Mike, I’ll be out in a sec,” he said when he was finally able to pull himself together without laughing. Davy gave Peter another mischievous grin. To Peter, he whispered, “What are we going to do if he’s still there when you leave?”

Peter shrugged. Davy kicked himself for implying he was doing something scandalous – he could have just said he was talking to Peter, there was nothing suspicious about that. But he had to admit it was an amusing situation he had gotten himself into. The high from being with Peter like this had made him giddy and it was hard to be too worried for too long.

“I’ll lead people away if I need to, I’ll knock once on the door when it’s alright to leave,” Davy suggested. Peter nodded and situated himself at the other end of the bathroom, where he would be hidden from view from the doorway. “Wait a little bit before coming out, but not too long.”

Davy stepped out of his and Peter’s hide away. A few buttons had come undone ( _when had that happened?),_ but there was no time to fix them now. That sort of thing was starting to come into fashion, so maybe if he didn’t fuss over it, it wouldn’t be so suspicious. Mike was leant on the wall next to the door, arms crossed. He looked embarrassed and awkward. Luckily, nobody else had come upstairs in the time he and Peter had been in the bathroom.

“We should probably go downstairs,” Davy said, leading Mike away. He leant closer to him, as if he was about to say something more confidential, and explained, “She’s a little shy.”

Davy kicked the door with the back of his heel, signalling to Peter that he was distracting Mike, and continued to walk with him down the staircase.

Things continued like that for the next month or so (both of them lost track of how long it had been). Their free moments were spent with secret escapades and greedy kisses in private corners and bathrooms and their bedroom. Davy had figured out how to be okay with it – he was just fooling around. It was fun, and that was all. It was something new and exciting, and they never slowed down for long enough to talk about it.

Davy still went out with women, and Peter watched him go. He knew they had never had anything serious. But every night Davy always came back to him, and that had to mean _something,_ didn’t it?

** III: I Don’t Think You Know Me (At All) **

Davy had come back from another date last night. His dates with girls were getting to be shorter and shorter. They didn’t feel the same anymore, but he didn’t spend much time figuring out why. He didn’t like what he might find if he spent time looking for answers, so instead he just kept on moving forward. That was all he knew how to do.

When he came into the pad, locking the door behind him, Peter was sitting on the staircase.

“Hello, love,” Davy smiled, walking up to Peter and pecking his lips. That’s just what they did now. Casual. Just a new aspect of their friendship. Just fun.

“You’re back early,” Peter noted. He seemed a little glum, but Davy was too busy ‘keeping on’ to notice. “Was she not nice?”

“No, she was fine,” Davy shrugged. “Just wasn’t digging it.”

The edges of Peter’s lips curled up slightly. Davy beckoned him to their bedroom. Peter followed him to find him getting into his pyjamas, and once he was finished dressing, he flopped onto Peter’s bed. The minute his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light – or at least he looked like he was. Peter watched him for a moment. He understood the practicality of Davy dating girls, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. The rush he got from the secrecy and having Davy to himself in the spaces they created for themselves was wearing off, and he knew it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t satisfied. Yet still, moments like these, watching this boy sleep so comfortably in _his_ bed almost made it worth it. In this way, at least, he had something no girl did.

He tried to tell himself it was enough, as he slipped into the single bed beside Davy.

It seemed the second he closed his eyes he was opening them again to the morning light. Davy was still beside him. He blinked the blurriness from sleep out of his eyes as Davy peered down at him.

“Morning,” he said simply. Peter glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eight AM. Mike had picked up a job, and he had probably already left. Micky was most likely fast asleep (he wasn’t a morning person). “I promised that girl I’d see her again today.”

“You didn’t even like her,” Peter said, trying not to reveal to Davy that he was pouting.

“Yeah, but it’s somethin’ to do,” Davy shrugged. “It’s good to keep busy.”

“I don’t understand you, David,” Peter said, sitting up on the bed.

“What do you mean?” Davy asked, frowning in confusion. _Had I done something wrong?_ He was just doing what he always had

“I mean,” Peter paused. “Isn’t _this_ – “ He gestured between them. “Enough?” _Aren’t I enough?_

“This isn’t - ” Davy started. “This isn’t the same thing. I’m not gay, Pete.”

“Could have fooled me,” Peter huffed. He was starting to realise truly how tired he was of this song and dance. Davy glared at him. “What’s the big deal with it, can’t you just dig both?”

“I’m _not_ gay.” Davy said more aggressively. “I don’t care if you’re a queer or whatever, that’s your bag, but it isn’t mine. Listen, Peter, this is a groove but … But it’s not _real_.”

“Seemed plenty real when – “

“That’s not what I mean,” Davy snapped again. He was shutting down. “I don’t know why I expected _you_ to get it.”

Davy knew he had crossed a line. Peter wouldn’t look at him anymore. But he didn’t dwell on it too much to feel very guilty. He just kept moving forward.

“I know I’m not smart … I know that,” Peter said. His voice was quiet, defeated. “But if you were making sense, I would be able to understand it.”

“Peter, I only mean … We’re just friends,” Davy said. “We’re just messing around. I thought you knew that.”

“Maybe if you ever just took the time to talk to me about it then I wouldn’t be too _dumb_ to understand it,” Peter spat. Davy looked taken aback. He never saw Peter like this. Some rational part of him knew he was being an ass, but the rest of him only became more defensive.

“I’ve been dating this whole time,” Davy argued. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, then fucking hell, Peter, what could I have possibly said that would have made it more clear to you? I’m not a fucking fruit, and I never will be.”

Every word was like another slap to Peter’s face. Davy was underestimating him, and that hurt more than anything. He _had_ figured it out, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Peter took a deep breath.

“I know I’m not smart,” Peter said again. “But that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like you do.”

“ _Treat you like I do?_ ” Davy repeated, sounding exasperated. “How do I treat you?”

“Like a dog!” Peter yelled. “You treat me like your dog!”

“I didn’t _ask_ you to get hung up,” Davy yelled back. “I was quite clear – “

“No, you weren’t! – “

“I was _quite_ fucking clear that this wasn’t a relationship. If you thought it was anything else, that’s your problem, not mine,” Davy snapped. Somewhere in the midst of arguing they had stood up, though neither remembered when. Davy huffed out a deep sigh, and swivelled, pulling out a shirt and a pair of pants at random, quickly getting dressed, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. Before Peter knew it, Davy had pulled on his boots, snatched up his jacket and stormed out the door. _Click. Clack. Click. Clack._ He heard the boots stomping through the living room. Then Peter heard the door slam, and Davy was gone.

Peter stared at the doorway. Then he noticed the beads that Davy had left on the dresser. He decided it was best he left their bedroom.

He walked out into the living room. Micky was staring wide eyed at the top of the stairs.

“How much did you hear?” Peter asked him. Micky gulped.

“I didn’t – I didn’t hear anything except yelling,” he said quickly. “I just saw Davy walk out. What happened? Where’s he going, is he coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, looking blankly back at Micky.

“Well what _happened?_ ” Micky asked again.

“He was being an asshole,” Peter replied. He frowned and pouted, and he imagined he looked like a petulant child who hadn’t gotten his way. He felt as if he had put too much pressure on Davy. He liked to think of himself as an understanding person, but he had been selfish. But still, Davy didn’t have to go and say all of those things. And he _had_ treated him like a dog. Peter started to cry.

“Oh, Peter,” Micky gasped, making his way down the stairs two steps at a time to wrap him up in a hug. Whenever Peter got upset it made everyone else feel upset by proxy, and Micky felt it full force. “Pete, you’re gonna make me cry, too. Please don’t be sad, he’ll be back by dinner. Like a cat.”

Micky’s weak attempt at lightening the mood made Peter chuckle through his sobs, but the laughing only made the crying come on harder afterwards.

Micky spent the day trying to console Peter. He made him food – cereal for breakfast and Micky Dolenz’s Sandwich Special for lunch – and watched a movie with him, and after lunch he brought out Peter’s banjo and laid it in his lap.

“Teach me somethin’,” Micky demanded. Micky was crap at the banjo and they both knew it (Peter insisted it was just like playing guitar, Micky thought differently). But it was something to do. Peter seemed … normal but distracted.

It was about halfway through Micky’s very, very slow rendition of Cripple Creek that Mike came home.

“Hey, fellas,” Mike said, not realising that anything was the matter. “Has Davy gone out?”

_You could say that,_ Micky thought but bit his tongue. He stood from the couch, handing the banjo back to Peter, then leading Mike into the kitchen where he whispered the situation to him. Peter hadn’t stopped feeling like a child all day. He knew he was childish, but he didn’t like it when other people pointed it out, especially not Davy. He liked himself just fine, but he didn’t enjoy feeling looked down on, or pitied. And he felt both today. But he knew without Micky he would be worrying himself sick over Davy. He plucked at his banjo for lack of anything better to do with his hands. It was better than keeping them in his lap with his head bowed.

“Pete, uh,” Mike cleared his throat. “He’ll come back, babe. We couldn’t get rid of Davy if we tried.”

Peter nodded and gave him an insincere, closed-mouth smile.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Mike asked. Peter shook his head.

“It’s long, and I don’t think Davy would want me to,” Peter explained. Mike nodded, though truthfully, he was thinking _to hell with Davy._ Mike loved Davy, but he was acting like a real bitch, just abandoning them and putting Peter through all that. So what if Peter gossiped about him? The sucker probably deserved it.

“Well, I’ve had a long day,” Mike sighed. “I could go for a bite to eat, and it’s my pay day. D’you and Mick wanna go out with me and get a treat? It’ll make Davy feel real jealous if he comes back and sees we went out without him.”

“Does he have his key to get in?” Peter asked, though none of them could answer. “Micky did you see him take his keys?”

Micky shrugged. “We won’t be long,” Mike promised, already grabbing the jacket he had put on the coat rack when he came inside.

Davy wasn’t home when they got back. But Peter wasn’t worried (or rather, he wasn’t more worried than he had been all day) because it wasn’t dinner yet. Mike and Micky promised that Davy would be back for dinner. Micky and Mike tried their best to keep Peter’s spirits high. Davy’s absence was affecting them too, but they felt a responsibility towards him (that was maybe also a coping mechanism to keep their minds from worrying too much). Neither of them knew what had happened between the other two monkees, and they certainly had no idea what could make Davy react like that.

“I think Peter yelled something about being treated poorly,” Micky explained, when he was whispering to Mike in the kitchen. “I heard something about a dog? And I think Davy called him stupid, or something. I couldn’t make out much, but Pete always gets … well, for lack of a better word, sulky when people do that.”

That had only confused Mike more. Davy and Peter had been getting along the same as normal before today. In fact, they seemed to be closer than ever.

Davy hadn’t come home for dinner. Peter kept an eye on the door the entire time, and barely touched his food. Mike patted his knee sympathetically. He had no promises left to make. He was sure Davy would be home sooner than later – he was just acting like a brat – but saying that to Peter after he had failed to show up at supper would only sound disingenuous. He doubted it would even work to get his hopes up.

Peter was sure that Davy would probably just sneak back into the house to avoid a scene. He was convinced that he would wake up the next morning, and there Davy would be. He was scared of what that would mean for him – Davy being home – but at the moment, he just wanted him to be safe at the pad. He was growing weary of this Schrödinger’s box scene from the minute Davy had slammed the door.

He also knew that Davy could have any girl he wanted. And that thought hurt more than his fear of the future. He had probably found himself in some girl’s bed by now. She was probably feeding him and asking him if he had anywhere to go. She was probably letting him wash up in her bathroom. Peter would rather sleep than think about that. He wondered if the past few months had ever truly happened; if Davy had ever been his at all, if only in those small moments.

In actuality, Davy had found himself in an all-night diner.

He had started out pacing the beach, and when that hadn’t worked out for him, he roamed the neighbourhood. He walked by a phone booth and considered calling, telling them he was going out for the day, and to not expect him home that night. But he didn’t want to risk having to speak to Peter, so he just kept on moving. He wasn’t even sure he had any money for the phone. So, he continued to wander around, probably looking like a proper long-haired weirdo to pedestrians.

He hadn’t realised that he had been walking for about an hour until he noticed the dull aching in his feet. _These boots were not a great choice._ It was coming to the end of winter, but he still felt a chill. It was still morning; he had a long way to go before he got to that diner, though he didn’t know that was where he was headed at the time. At that moment, he was just thinking about a place to sit.

After several minutes of walking, he found a park. He sat on a bench that faced an empty playground (it was a weekday, and all the children were in school). He reached to his neck to tug at beads that weren’t there. He had left them on the dresser. _Good._ He thought, bitterly. _I don’t want to think about Peter._ But their absence only made Davy more conscious of him. The guilt was beginning to settle in. He stood up and kept on walking.

There was a record store nearby that Davy ducked into. He didn’t think he had any money, but he didn’t have anything to do, or anywhere to go. He loitered around, absent-mindedly flipping through records of varying genres. He was the only person in the store, and he could feel the clerk getting more annoyed at him as it became more apparent that he wasn’t going to buy anything. Every record reminded him of Peter. He remembered Peter gushing about Joan Baez. He remembered Peter whistling Strawberry Fields Forever. He remembered when Peter had saved up for weeks to afford the Mamas and the Papas’ latest record. It was all too much. He left the store feeling more nauseous than he had ever felt in his life.

His feet still ached, but he had nowhere to rest. He crouched down in the alleyway beside the record shop, hoping nobody would see him. He _definitely_ looked like a long-haired weirdo now.

He realised now he was in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, with no recollection of how he had gotten there. He couldn’t retrace his steps if he tried. He brought his knees to his chest, feeling like a lost and scared little kid. He began to cry; silent sobbing racked his chest. He had been cruel. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He wished he had never kissed Peter; he wished this whole mess had never happened. He shouldn’t have lead him on like that. He _had_ treated him like his pet. He had used him, and he was too focused on denying the truth of what was happening to notice.

But hadn’t they been happy? Until now he could only remember smiling, and laughing, and trying to quieten down so they couldn’t be heard. He had been happy with women before. He wasn’t gay. But he had also been happy with Peter.

Davy had to face it: if Peter were a girl, they would have properly dated a long time ago. Why did it have to be any different just because he wasn’t? Davy felt like a complete idiot. Even after this revelation, he couldn’t shake the strangeness of having feelings like that for Peter (for another man), and it made Davy feel like a complete idiot. It’s not like they hadn’t _done_ things – they had done a whole greater deal than he had done with a lot of the girls he liked. But he had come up with his own justifications that allowed him to continue in his life without having to think too hard.

Davy wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. He wasn’t ready to go home, but he couldn’t sit in an alley crying all day. So, he kept on going.

The rest of the afternoon was a haze. He got caught in a pattern of wandering neighbourhood after neighbourhood, finding benches to sit, stores to go into, windows to look through. He remembered stopping into a grocery store, and just standing absent mindedly in an aisle with canned beans. The fluorescent lights beamed down on him from above, watching his every move. His skin crawled with guilt and self-pity. He stared at the cans, not taking in anything except the price tag. The prices were quite cheap, he would have to remember to tell Mike about this place. He was a sucker for a good deal. Time seemed to meander on, and all he wanted was to be able to go home, but he wasn’t sure how.

It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten mugged (not like he had anything he could hand over besides the shirt on his back).

It was late afternoon when Davy saw the diner. It reminded him of a place he used to go to in Manchester with his grandfather, and it made him realise he hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before. He stumbled in; by now it felt like he was walking on glass, but after noticing just how hungry he was, his feet didn’t mean too much to him. The waiter at the counter watched him as he fumbled through his pockets for the first time that day and brought out all the spare change he could find and placed the coins on the table. 75 cents.

“How much could this get me?” Davy asked. The boy at the counter shrugged. He looked about the same age as Davy.

“A coffee, a slice of pie, maybe a pastry,” he answered. He looked at him from underneath a curly mop of brown hair that made Davy think of Micky, except his hair was not nearly as fuzzy as Micky’s – this kid’s curls fell all over his face.

“I’ll take all three,” Davy said. The kid swiped the money from the counter and set to making his coffee. The place was empty, and if it was anything like the diner in Manchester, it would be for a while. He sat down in a booth, the weak sunlight pouring on him and getting in his eyes. It would start to go down soon. He picked up a newspaper to read, but he didn’t process any of the words. The waiter was bringing over his food soon enough, anyway.

It felt like the food was gone within seconds, and it didn’t satisfy him one bit. He took a gulp of his coffee so fast it burned the roof of his mouth. By the next hour he had read the newspaper back to front, and he was starting on his second round. He had to remember to talk to Mike about the job advertisements. He had to remember to cut out the comic strips for Micky and Peter.

On his third flick through of the paper, the kid came back over to him. It was well and truly dark outside now.

“My boss said I could bring something over for you,” the kid said, sliding an egg sandwich onto his table. “I think she feels sorry for you.”

Davy stared at him, open mouthed. He supposed he probably looked like shit, and definitely looked weird reading and rereading the paper for hours after hobbling in with only 75 cents to his name. “Thanks.”

“Donny,” the kid said, holding his hand out. Davy shook it.

“David,” he replied. “Friends call me Davy.”

Davy went to eating his sandwich.

“The diner’s open all night,” Donny said. “But my shift ends at nine. Do you have anywhere you can go?”

Davy looked down at his hands, and after a moment shook his head.

“D’you wanna come back to mine?” he asked. Davy looked him in the eyes, a confused frown coating his face. He mulled it over for a moment. He was tired, and hungry, and aching, and lonely. He didn’t have the frame of mind to say no.

“Sure,” Davy nodded. The kid, Donny, smiled sweetly.

“Do you need anything else?” Donny asked.

“You got a pencil?” Davy asked in return. Donny raised his eyebrows but grabbed the pencil that was behind his ear that he took orders with and handed it to him.

Davy killed time by drawing stickmen and cartoon faces in the margins of the newspaper and on napkins. He hoped they would be entertaining for the next people that came into the booth (if anyone ever would), but being as beaten down as he was, he didn’t think he had much grasp on what was funny. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly he was being shaken gently and he was groggily trying to figure out where he was.

“Davy?” Donny whispered, as he shook his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Davy said, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry, man.”

“’S alright,” Donny said. “C’mon.”

Davy slid out of the booth and followed the other kid out of the diner. He shivered as the cool night air bit into him. He had chosen the wrong jacket.

“Here,” Donny said, pulling his own jacket off and placing it on Davy’s shoulders. He felt guilty for being a burden on this kid he had just met, but he didn’t complain about the extra warmth. “My apartment isn’t too far from here, but I don’t own a car, so we’re gonna have to walk.”

“That’s alright, man,” Davy chuckled. “I’ve been walking all day, my legs are gonna be sore tomorrow no matter what.”

Donny smirked at him, trying to figure out what could possibly have brought this kid with a funny accent to his diner. “Where’re you from, Davy?”

“England,” Davy answered, but when he realised how obvious that was, he added, “Manchester.”

“I’ve never been,” Donny said. “I’ve never been outside California, to be honest. How long have you been living here?”

“A few years now,” he said. For lack of anything better to say, he said, “I’m in a band.”

“Do they know where you are?” Donny asked. Davy shook his head. Donny didn’t press him about his story. He didn’t want to hit a sore spot. “What instruments do you play?”

“Tambourine, mostly,” Davy chuckled, a lopsided smirk appearing on his face. “I sing. I fill in for drums sometimes. I’m learning bass.”

“You sound pretty talented,” Donny chuckled. Davy shook his head.

“You should see the rest of them. Mike’s the most dedicated guitarist I know, and Micky’s got the best voice out of any of us, and Peter knows, like, a million instruments.”

“How come I’ve never heard of ya?” Donny asked. Davy shrugged.

“Maybe you just have to get more involved in the scene,” Davy said. Donny blushed. They continued the small talk about the band, and Davy’s life (staying away from the topic of how the hell he had ended up here), until they arrived at Donny’s apartment. He unlocked the door (he had to shake the keys in the lock a bit to get it to open).

Donny shut the door behind them and took hold of the collar of Davy’s jacket. He wasn’t forceful, but Davy didn’t know how to move anymore. Donny leaned in, and Davy knew what was coming next. He supposed they had been flirting. It was a force of habit for Davy. Donny kissed him gently. On instinct, Davy leaned into it. He had to admit he got a little caught up in the romance of his predicament, and Donny’s kiss felt comforting after a day of feeling utterly alone. He didn’t even mind that Donny was a boy, just like him. But his brain soon caught up and he pulled away. Donny looked worried.

“I’m sorry, I just thought …” Donny said.

“No, it’s okay, I-it’s not like that,” Davy said. He reached up to tug at his beads again before he realised for the second time that day, they weren’t there. “In other circumstances I would but … I have someone else.”

“That Peter fellow? In your band?” Donny asked. Davy nodded glumly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you or anything, I just thought …”

“It’s alright, Donny,” Davy said. “I really wouldn’t have minded, if things were different.”

Donny nodded. Davy found he wasn’t lying. He hadn’t hated the kiss. Donny was charming, and he was handsome, and he was kind enough to not be mad at him. He might have even had stars in his eyes. But Donny wasn’t Peter. “The bathroom is the second door on the right, you can shower in there.”

“Do I really smell that bad?” Davy asked. Donny chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll leave some blankets and pillows on the couch,” he said. “Can I have my jacket back?”

Davy had forgotten he was wearing it. He slipped it off his shoulders and handed it to him. “I only need to stay tonight; I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

“It’s okay, Davy,” Donny said. “I wouldn’t have invited you if it was too much of a bother.”

Davy nodded, but he couldn’t quite believe it. But he had no time to dwell on it. No matter how much Donny denied it, he needed a shower badly, and all he wanted to do was collapse on the couch and sleep the day off.

He didn’t wait for the shower to heat up before he stepped in. The cold water shocked his kin and woke him up a little bit. He missed the shower at the pad. He knew exactly how to get the optimal temperature. But he supposed he deserved to be uncomfortable tonight.

The couch was lumpy, but he didn’t mind. It was better than an alleyway, or the booths at the diner. He couldn’t sleep for some time. He didn’t know how long he was staring at Donny’s ceiling, but the hours continued to stretch on. At some point in the night he must have closed his eyes and not opened them again.

** IV: Daydream Believer **

Davy had said he would be gone in the morning, but he slept longer than he intended. The morning was travelling into midday, and had Donny not been pottering in the kitchen, he would have kept sleeping. He was disoriented, and it took him several moments to adjust to not waking up in his own bed. He was disappointed by not finding Peter clinging onto him, as he had become accustomed to.

“Morning,” Donny said. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Morally, I don’t think I’m allowed to be angry at you, man,” Davy said. Donny smirked.

“I made eggs,” he said, beckoning to a plate he had set out for Davy.

“Thanks,” Davy said. He ate the eggs in silence. He didn’t have much to say. He just wanted to go home.

“Do you need anything before you go?” Donny asked, sipping at a cup of coffee.

“Directions to the nearest phone booth and a couple of cents,” Davy answered. “I’ll pay ya back if I ever see you again.”

Donny smiled. “It’s two lefts and then down the road,” he said gesturing with a tilt of his head. “Who ya gonna call?”

“Gonna get Mike to pick me up,” Davy explained. They stood in silence as Donny searched the house for some spare change. “You’re a good kid, Donny.”

“You too, Davy,” Donny said. “For what it’s worth.”

With that, Davy put on his boots and left. His legs hurt like a bitch, as expected. He had gotten the address from Donny the night before, and tried to recall it as he walked, keeping his eye out for the phonebooth. He wiped some leftover sleep out of his eyes. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

Finally, like an oasis in a desert, he saw the booth. He entered the familiar phone number, hoping to god that _someone_ was home. He wouldn’t even mind if Peter was the one who picked up, he just wanted to be able to go home.

“Hullo?” The tinny voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Mike!” Davy exclaimed. He could cry. “Mike, it’s Davy.”

“Davy?” Mike asked. “Where the hell are ya?”

“I’ll tell you, but don’t ask how I got here, because I wouldn’t be able to answer!” He said. He felt ecstatic with relief. He felt like he could laugh and laugh and laugh. This whole situation seemed awfully funny to him now. Davy gave him the address “ – with two lefts and down the road from there. I’ll be at the phonebooth.”

“How the hell did you get halfway across town all on your own with no way home?” Mike asked. “You know what, I don’t want to know. It’s best if I don’t know.”

“I told you, I don’t know myself,” Davy said. “See you soon!”

Davy let out a hearty chuckle, and collapsed in the phone booth, his knees to his chest. He didn’t even care that Mike was really going to lay into him, he didn’t even care about how he had left things with Peter. He was going back home! How he would just lay on his bed and never get up again!

“It’s Davy,” Mike explained, though Micky and Peter knew this already because they had been hovering right next to Mike and hanging onto every word. “I’m gonna pick him up. It’s best if I go alone.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Micky warned.

“I won’t, I swear,” Mike said. “He managed to get lost halfway across town with no money and no car. It’s a wonder he’s not hurt.”

They all felt a little guilty at being so mad at Davy the day before, especially Peter. Had what Peter said really been so horrible to cause all this? He had been so caught up in being bitter, that he hadn’t imagined that Davy was roughing it while he stayed safe at home with their friends.

The sun was beating down on Davy as he waited for Mike. It was a lot warmer today than it had been yesterday. There was nowhere to sit near the phonebooth, and he imagined he looked like a loon sitting on the ground with his back pressed to the booth. His whole body was stiff and sore, but he was still so tired he couldn’t care less. Donny’s shift had only ended at nine, and he had slept most of the morning, but he couldn’t shake the exhaustion. Mike was taking forever to show up ( _had he really walked that far?_ ) He found himself nodding off.

“Davy!” Mike called from the monkeemobile. Davy started. His head turned towards Mike and relief washed over him.

“Mike!” he yelled back, his eyes welling with tears of relief. He almost ran into the passenger seat of the car. “Oh, thank god.”

“What were you doing all the way out here?” Mike asked, starting the car and driving home.

“I don’t know, I just … kept walking,” Davy said. “Didn’t have no money, or nothin’. Ended up in this diner, and I was just gonna stay there all night ‘til this waiter took me home.”

Davy ignored how he had made that sound. Nothing had happened except a kiss.

“Davy,” Mike scolded. “You could have been seriously hurt!”

“It was alright, Mike,” Davy said. “He was the same age as me, and just as skinny too. And he was a good lad.”

Mike was barely convinced. His shirt was rumpled, and his hair was untidy, and he looked drained and dishevelled, but he looked unharmed.

“Do you need food?” Mike asked, after contemplating what Davy had said. Davy shook his head, but Mike’s eyes were on the road and he couldn’t see him.

“No, he made me breakfast,” Davy answered. He was making it sound more and more like something _had_ happened. They drove in silence.

“What happened with you ‘n’ Peter?” Mike asked, breaking up the thick silence. Davy sighed.

“I don’t think Peter would want me to say,” Davy said.

“Funny,” Mike chuckled. “Peter said the same thing.”

They sat in silence again. “I was being a bastard,” Davy said, finally. “It wasn’t right.”

“Yeah, you were,” Mike replied. “You really put Pete through a lot. And me ‘n’ Micky.”

“I know,” Davy said, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t mean to worry you all. I just had to figure stuff out, and I was scared to come home. And a little lost if I’m being honest.”

“You could have just called,” Mike said.

“I was afraid Peter would pick up,” Davy admitted. “And I didn’t know if I had money. Then I spent it on food.”

Mike shook his head in exasperation but didn’t say anything more.

Eventually, Davy saw the pad in the distance, and another wave of relief crashed over him. He felt exhausted just thinking about his bed. Mike unlocked the door for him (he _had_ forgotten his keys after all) and Davy came face to face with Micky and Peter standing in the living room.

Davy was suddenly self-conscious of how unkempt he most likely looked. He hadn’t combed his hair for two days, and he had been wearing the same clothes for over a day now. He blinked at Micky and Peter.

Just as Micky cleared his throat to say something, Davy ran to Peter and engulfed him in a hug, squeezing his arms tightly around his torso. He felt the tears running down his cheeks before his body started shaking from the sobbing that was coming out of him. He felt silly, and weak, and a little too vulnerable. It had been a long day and a half.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Davy sobbed. “I-I didn’t mean what I said. I was a-awful to you.”

Peter awkwardly patted the top of Davy’s head. He smoothed down some of his hair and unknotted it. “It’s okay,” Peter said. It wasn’t.

Davy continued to cry. Mike had pulled Micky into their bedroom to give them space. Peter didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Davy sniffed, wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeves. He had made a mess of Peter’s shirt with his carrying on. “I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said again. What else was there to say?

“God, my legs fuckin’ _hurt_ ,” Davy half-chuckled, half-sobbed. Peter said nothing. Davy didn’t either. He just pulled away and disappeared into their bedroom.

Peter stood in the living room, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. He was still hurt by what Davy had said, and he was still bitter about having been abandoned and left to worry for a day. He didn’t know what to think when Davy hadn’t been home all morning. But Davy sure seemed a lot worse for wear than Peter did. Not even Mike, who was particularly protective of Peter, had the heart to think he deserved it.

Peter peeked into the bedroom. Davy was crashed on his bed, fast asleep on top of the covers. He was still in the same clothes he had left the house yesterday morning in. He hadn’t bothered to take off his boots.

Peter made sure Davy was truly down for the count before carefully tugging off his shoes and placing them beside the bed. He shut the curtains, then grabbed a blanket from his own bed and spread it over Davy’s sleeping frame. Davy turned in his sleep but didn’t wake. Peter shut the door behind him on his way out.

Davy woke up that afternoon feeling dizzy. There was a sliver of late afternoon sun shining through the window where the curtain wasn’t closed all the way. That morning had hardly felt real. All the colours felt too bright and saturated. Donny felt a million light years away by now.

Peter was leaning in the doorway. “How long have you been there?” Davy asked.

“Mike asked me to check if you were awake,” Peter said. He wouldn’t look at Davy. Davy stared at his own hands coyly. He perked up, trying to lighten the mood and the awkward atmosphere in their room.

“Do you wanna know what happened yesterday?” Davy asked, forcing a smile and rubbing at his eye. Peter shrugged and nodded, sitting on his own bed at the other end of the room. “It’s not that interesting. I just kind of … walked … I went into this record store and pissed off the guy at the counter by not buying anything. And when I left, I realised I had no idea where I was. I sat in this alley and I just cried; I didn’t know what I was going to do. Eventually I just kept walking. I was probably just making things worse for myself by doing that. By the afternoon I walked up to this diner and bought what little food I could afford. I was just gonna try to sleep in a booth and hope I didn’t get kicked out onto the street, but this waiter offered to let me stay the night with him. And now here I am.”

Davy had left out the part about Donny kissing him. Peter’s mouth was pressed together in a thin line.

“I thought you would have gone to see that girl,” Peter said quietly. Davy raised his eyebrows.

“What? _Oh_ ,” Davy said. “Girls never even crossed my mind.”

Peter didn’t look like he believed him. Davy found it strange that he wasn’t lying about that, considering the whole fight had been about girls in the first place. All he had been able to think about was Peter.

“Peter, I – “ Davy gulped. He reached over across the divide between their beds and rested his hand on Peter’s. “You were right. I wasn’t making any sense, and I was in denial. I don’t … This should have been enough. This _is_ enough. I don’t want anyone else.”

Peter smiled softly, though Davy saw his cheeks were wet with tears. Davy wiped them away. “I thought I’d screwed everything up,” Peter scoffed, leaning into Davy’s touch.

“So did I,” Davy said. “Though I think I’m the most at fault here. I’ve been a bastard, and you don’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” Peter said. Davy shook his head.

“I think I needed the pressure, or I wouldn’t have figured anything out,” Davy chuckled. “I’m too stubborn.”

“What’d you figure out?” Peter smirked knowingly.

“I dig you, Peter, I really do,” Davy answered. “More than the ‘just-having-fun’ kind of dig.”

“You mean that?” Peter asked. Davy nodded. Peter smiled, squeezing Davy’s hand before getting up to open the curtains. Davy groaned and flopped back onto his back.

“Too bright,” he complained, covering his eyes with his hand. Peter walked back to the doorway.

“Mike’s making dinner soon,” Peter said. “He thought you might want to get into some other clothes, or something. You’ve been wearing them for a while.”

Davy nodded, rubbing at his face tiredly ( _would he ever manage to kick this exhaustion?)_

After dinner – after everyone had retired back to their bedrooms – Davy slept in his own bed, and Peter in his. There was still an awkwardness between them, a gulf, that had never been there before. He wondered what the hell Mike and Micky thought of this whole situation. It hadn’t been subtle.

Davy had tried to shut his eyes and sleep, but he found he couldn’t. His sleeping schedule was all out of wack, and for the first time in two days he wasn’t tired.

“Peter,” Davy whispered. “Are you awake?”

“No,” Peter murmured. Davy rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to leave a message.”

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Davy asked. “With you? I can’t sleep.”

“That’s because you’ve been sleeping all day,” Peter scolded, but rolled over to make room for him anyway. Davy crept over and squeezed into the empty space.

“D’you think we should push our beds together at some point to make some more room?” Davy asked.

“Mmm,” Peter responded. “Micky and Mike would probably notice that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Davy said.

He shifted closer to Peter, his head on his chest. Peter responded by placing his arm over Davy, keeping him in that position.

“I’m going to sleep,” Peter said. “You should too.”

Peter kissed the top of Davy’s head, and didn’t make another sound.

** V: Sometime in the Morning **

Peter had forgotten to close the curtains again. Davy’s eyes fluttered open to find their sunny bedroom. He wasn’t in a diner somewhere in town, and he wasn’t on a stranger’s couch. He was in his own bed, and Peter’s arm was wrapped around him. Davy sighed deeply, breathing in the morning air. He hadn’t felt this content in a while. It was certainly a nice resolution to the last few days.

Peter shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake. Davy could feel the other boy beneath his hands; he was aware of every part of him that was close enough to touch Peter, where the fabric of their pyjamas bunched. They stayed like that for a while, until Peter shifted a little more, and started to blink his eyes open.

“Morning,” Peter said groggily when he noticed Davy looking at him. He smoothed down some of the hair that was standing up and yawned. “Do you want to get some breakfast?”

“No,” Davy sighed, pulling Peter closer to him. “I think I just want to stay here for a while.”

So, for once, Davy stayed.


End file.
